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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23321806">A Fresh Poison Each Week</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperWorlds/pseuds/PaperWorlds'>PaperWorlds</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Crack, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Humor, In a Platonic Way, M/M, Nurse Harry is not happy, Pet Sitting, Sugar Daddy, Tom Riddle is a little shit in every universe, Tom Riddle's quest for immortality never quite goes right, Voldemort is a grumpy baby, idk how to tag this, prompt fills</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:01:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23321806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperWorlds/pseuds/PaperWorlds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>My various prompt fills for the Corona Challenge. Rather than making each work separate, I'm going to post each work as a chapter on here; none of my fills will be multi-chapter because then they will get out of control and end up too long lmao. The prompt for each chapter will be included in the summary. Also, none of this is beta-ed, so sorry for any and all errors.</p><p>1. This is what he gets for being so cocky<br/>2. Demonic Rituals for Bored Minds<br/>3. plants<br/>4. pet sitting<br/>5. rival law students<br/>6. sugar daddy<br/>7. Same dorms, part 1<br/>8. Same dorms, part 2<br/>9. vigilante au<br/>10. Token, part 1<br/>11. Token, part 2<br/>12. a gardener meets a talkative snake<br/>13. Movie Night</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>126</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>308</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Corona Challenge</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. This is what he gets for being so cocky</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mochamiii/pseuds/Mochamiii">Mochamiii</a>  in the  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CoronaChallenge">CoronaChallenge</a>
          collection.
        </li>
        <li>In response to a prompt by
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/de_Trices/pseuds/de_Trices">de_Trices</a>  in the  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CoronaChallenge">CoronaChallenge</a>
          collection.
        </li>
        <li>In response to a prompt by
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterisms/pseuds/asterismal">asterismal (asterisms)</a>  in the  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CoronaChallenge">CoronaChallenge</a>
          collection.
        </li>
        <li>In response to a prompt by
            Anonymous in the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CoronaChallenge">CoronaChallenge</a>
          collection.
        </li>
        <li>In response to a prompt by
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecupkate/pseuds/littlecupkate">littlecupkate</a>  in the  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CoronaChallenge">CoronaChallenge</a>
          collection.
        </li>
        <li>In response to a prompt by
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/nskisun/pseuds/nskisun">nskisun</a>  in the  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CoronaChallenge">CoronaChallenge</a>
          collection.
        </li>
        <li>In response to a prompt by
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecupkate/pseuds/littlecupkate">littlecupkate</a>  in the  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CoronaChallenge">CoronaChallenge</a>
          collection.
        </li>
        <li>In response to a prompt by
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterisms/pseuds/asterismal">asterismal (asterisms)</a>  in the  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CoronaChallenge">CoronaChallenge</a>
          collection.
        </li>
        <li>In response to a prompt by
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/de_Trices/pseuds/de_Trices">de_Trices</a>  in the  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CoronaChallenge">CoronaChallenge</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After the ritual to bring Voldemort back, his immune system has significantly weakened, making him more susceptible to prone to getting ill.</p><p>Harry warns him to regularly cast heating charms along with impervius but Voldemort ignores him.</p><p>Now we’ve got a sick snake man in bed with a high temperature- and Harry has to nurse him back to health.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>This was the sixth time that Voldemort had woken up that day, and the fourth time that Harry had had this very same argument.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry had </span>
  <em>
    <span>warned</span>
  </em>
  <span> Voldemort that he needed to cast regular heating charms, lest his body give him a fever to ratchet up his internal temperature. He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>told</span>
  </em>
  <span> him to cast impervious charms to keep himself from catching a chill. Did he listen?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course not. And now Harry had a grumpy, combative Dark Lord in bed, determined to prove that he was healthy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m perfectly fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve had cold sweats and a fever for the past two days. Now it sounds like you’re about to cough out a lung. Admit it, Tom, you’re sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me Tom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Either you’re Voldemort or you’re sick. Pick one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sick,” Voldemort objected, turning his head away to glare at the wall. “36°C is a perfectly acceptable temperature.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For a normal human,” Harry sighed, exasperated. He reached out and laid his hand across Voldemort’s forehead, ignoring the Dark Lord’s irritated hiss. “You’re practically a reptile. You aren’t supposed to go over 29°C, you heard what the mediwitch said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If that were the case, I’d already be dead,” Voldemort grumbled. “My internal temperature is </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your magic is the only thing keeping you alive,” Harry said. “A lesser wizard </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> be dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Voldemort turned his head back. He drew his lips back, revealing his sharp fangs as he practically leered at Harry. “That almost sounded like a compliment, my dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry flushed. “Shut up. That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he said. “You’re depleting your magic at a rate even you can’t sustain. You’re feeling tired already, I can tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”You can't tell anything, because I’m fine—” Voldemort’s protests were cut off by a fit of racking coughs. The Dark Lord leaned forward and clutched at his throat with thin, scrambling fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, Tom. Here—” Harry grabbed a towel from a nearby cart and held it out. “Cough into this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need—” Voldemort’s expression twisted. He snatched the towel from Harry’s hands and held it up to his mouth, his face contorting as he coughed violently into the towel. When he drew away, there were splatters of blood on the fabric.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry wordlessly handed Voldemort a glass of water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Voldemort muttered, not meeting Harry’s eyes. He sipped the water slowly, his grip tight around the glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to see a proper Healer,” Harry said quietly, picking up the towel and Vanishing away the bloodstains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t trust the Healers,” Voldemort said darkly. “They have no idea how my body works. Nobody does. I can do everything they can do, and I can do it </span>
  <em>
    <span>better—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can do it when you’re healthy,” Harry snapped, his patience wearing thin. “Get over yourself, Tom, you need help or </span>
  <em>
    <span>you are going to die.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Voldemort blanched. “I won’t die,” he hissed, lunging forward and grabbing Harry’s wrists, pulling Harry in close. “I can’t die. Imply otherwise, and I will </span>
  <em>
    <span>end you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry ignored Voldemort’s threats. “I can’t let you die either,” Harry snarled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you can’t,” Voldemort snarled back. “Because if I die, you die. So stop pestering me, and let me heal myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry let out a strangled sound of frustration and attempted to wrench his arms away. When that failed, Voldemort’s grip too strong despite his illness, Harry gave up and leaned into the Dark Lord’s grip, pressing his forehead against Voldemort’s sternly. “I don’t want you to die, you stupid, stubborn man, because I lo— I care about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Voldemort shook his head, his eyes shutting tightly. “No, you don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do.” His wrists still held in Voldemort’s tight grip, Harry took Voldemort’s face in his hands, brushing his fingertips across the Dark Lord’s sharp cheekbones.  “Let me take care of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need you to take care of me,” Voldemort repeated, even as he slumped back down into his hospital bed, dropping his hold on Harry in favour of wrapping his arms around himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it. I want to,” Harry said firmly. He finally sat down on the edge of Voldemort’s bed, ignoring the way Voldemort cringed away, and Conjured a cool cloth, which he laid across Voldemort’s warm forehead. “You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to push away everyone who cares about you, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Were Voldemort healthy, he probably would’ve jinxed Harry for that comment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I die, I’m going to haunt you for eternity,” Voldemort mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you said you couldn’t die,” Harry replied, grinning to himself at Voldemort’s surrender. “When did you last take a Pepperup Potion?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two hours…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You get another in half an hour. And you have to drink it— I don’t care if it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>artisanally crafted </span>
  </em>
  <span>by the </span>
  <em>
    <span>finest of brewers</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’ll help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>barely</span>
  </em>
  <span> help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you gave in, you aren’t allowed to argue with me anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Voldemort hissed indignantly. “That’s not how it works.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, did you hear something? I thought I heard someone who should be resting </span>
  <em>
    <span>arguing</span>
  </em>
  <span> with his sole caretaker…”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Demonic Rituals for Bored Minds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harry is bored of the Underworld, so when someone summons a demon after nearly a hundred years, he's the first to answer. Tom Riddle only wanted power and immortality, not an adrift demon following him everywhere.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>This was the best way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom had already looked into all other methods of immortality, known or unknown, light or dark, common or hardly rumoured. They were all too flawed— possibly even nonexistent, in the case of the Death Hallows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unicorn blood held promise, but Tom had no desire to curse his existence and reduce his magical potential. The philosopher’s stone was not only hidden, but guarded by an immortal partnership, which, at sixteen, Tom had no desire to trifle with. Perenelle Flamel was rumoured to be the most powerful witch since Rowena Ravenclaw herself; Tom knew not to bite off more than he could chew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even horcruxes, which had seemed promising at first, had ended up being disappointing, to say the least. Tom wanted true immortality; the risk of an inanimate vessel being destroyed was simply too great. Even worse, it would split his soul; he could only make so many before he ended up barely a sliver. Tom understood exponential loss. Half a soul, perhaps, could be doable, but then Tom would only have one insurance policy. Any less, and Tom may as well just go on a unicorn slaughtering spree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Demonic rituals weren’t well known in the wizarding world. They were considered dark, taboo, even more so than horcruxes— a brand of death magic so obscure and reviled that it’s practice had caused the necromancers of the world to all but fade from existence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily for Tom, the Lestrange family was one of the last known practitioners of demonic rituals; the current matriarch was said to have been granted a wish by a bird demon when she was only twelve years old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Lestrange library was open to Tom to come and go as he pleased.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of utmost importance is that you know the name of the demon you wish to summon. Some are more temperamental and require a subtle touch; these are often the ones able to grant the most power. These are Mammon, Leviathan, Adramelech, and the Master. For lesser desires, invoke weaker demons such as Aguares, Alloces, or Zepar. See the index for a complete list of demons that have been successfully summoned; note that unless a demon responds to your call, it should not be invoked, lest it turn on the invoker and devour their soul.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom flipped to the back of the book— which was simply entitled ‘Demonic Rituals—’ and scanned through the list of demonic figures. Many of the figures seemed to be nothing but abstract blobs, though an equal number looked like eldritch horrors lifted straight from the Necronomicon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>According to the book, lesser demons were often invoked in times of want or desire, while greater demons were invoked in times of need. Zepar, for example, caused women to fall in love with men. True love, apparently, not the shell of love caused by Amortentia or similar love potions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom didn’t need love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He riffled through the pages until he arrived at the very end. Here were the names of the demons he was familiar with from the orphanage: Lucifer, Beelzebub, Belphegor, Abbadon. These demons appeared more human; illustrations of them showed humanoid shapes, wielding wands or staffs. According to Demonic Rituals, Merlin himself had been a greater demon, summoned alongside Morgana by King Arthur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>According to Demonic Rituals, it had been centuries since one these greater demons had been invoked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom was excellent at surpassing expectations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unless it responds to your call…” Tom murmured, running his hand down the list of demons. Perhaps he should start with a lower tier demon; just to ensure that a response was, in fact, possible to obtain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom set about preparing the summoning circle, following the instructions in the beginning of Demonic Rituals perfectly; he carefully drew out the correct runes using charcoal, he lit a stick of frankincense, he placed one candle at each compass point, and he set small glass beads atop each tangent of the runic circle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he stepped into the circle. “Stolas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>“The Great Owl, Stolas, teacher of astronomy, herbology, and mineralogy. I answer to the call.”</em>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice reverberated around the empty library. At the same time, a ghostly image of an enormous owl poured from the pages of Demonic Rituals. It was akin to a patronus, but more grey, and its presence chilled the room rather than warming it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The owl— Stolas— flew around the library once, twice, three times. And exploded into a ball of flames.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same voice screeched so loudly, Tom was surprised to find that his ears were not bleeding. The voice continued to scream until the spectre had completely burnt up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the wailing stopped, the library felt oppressively silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not that one then,” Tom muttered, shaken. He had just called out to a </span>
  <em>
    <span>demon.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And it </span>
  <em>
    <span>responded.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, before it had caught fire and burnt up into nothingness.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Stolas is not enough for what you seek, Tom Riddle.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom jerked his head up from the book when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Instinctively, he drew his wand, whirling away in a smooth motion so that he was standing, ready to attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spectre he was pointing his wand at looked unimpressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This one was humanoid, even more so than the Seven Sins demons illustrated in Demonic Rituals. Its limbs were of usual proportion, though it seemed rather skinny, beneath a long, ghostly robe. It was blurred, out of focus, almost as if several faces had been superimposed upon each other and then amalgamated; the features were completely, utterly unremarkable, in a way that made them terrifying.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Are you going to curse me, Tom Riddle? Use your little stick to banish an Old One? I wish you luck.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” Tom asked, mentally congratulating himself when he found his voice to be surprisingly even.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I can give you what Stolas can’t.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon walked towards Tom. And it did walk, rather than glide, its steps somehow sending vibrations through the floor, even as part of its arm passed clean through a lamp attached to the wall. As it got closer, its features somehow grew more blurred, its skin growing more translucent, such that Tom could see the bones lying beneath the mimicry of skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Call the name, Tom Riddle. Invoke the Master.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>The spectral demon dissolved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Master.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom rushed back over to Demonic Rituals, which he’d left lying unceremoniously on the floor, stabbing himself rather ungracefully in the armpit while tucking his wand back up his sleeve. The pages of the book had changed— no, new pages had been added. Tom was positive this new page, coloured an ashy grey and painted shades of gold and ivory, had not been in the book when he’d first opened it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Death. The Eldest One. Concept, Notion, Impression. Cannot be invoked.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that description was not bloody helpful. The image of the demon was unmistakable; the blurred features, the inexplicable solid translucence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom almost wanted to rip the page out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he drew his wand and began casting as many revelation spells as he knew. Spells for revealing hidden words, spells for making invisible ink visible, spells for decrypting secret messages. None had any result.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom really was considering ripping out the page when something caught his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One miniscule section of the page was slightly raised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was painted over with a thin layer of grey. Tom attempted to scratch the paint away, to no avail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lumos.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held up the bright light behind the page, backlighting the whole thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Under the raised part, painted over, were several words, written in pale green, or perhaps simply washed out by the grey paint. They were slightly raised, and written in chicken scratch so poor, Tom could hardly read it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he could read it, just barely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom stepped back into the invoking circle. He re-organized the glass beads, which had scattered when he’d scrambled away, and redrew the smudged charcoal lines. Then he spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harbinger, the Master of Death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom waited for a new spectre to erupt from the pages of Demonic Rituals, his heartbeat audible, his breathing nonexistent. For several long moments, nothing happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then nothing continued to happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And continued to happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom didn’t want to step out of the invoking circle. It seemed awfully foolish to leave the only protection he had, if the demon he was invoking turned violent. But he also had no urge to stand around in a circle doing nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom was still mulling over his options when he heard a knock on the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom swore under his breath. “I’m not done, Bella! This mustn't be interrupted!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not Bella.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An unfamiliar voice replied. Before Tom could ask further questions, the door opened. Tom almost fell out of the invoking circle at the feeling of his wards being torn asunder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the blink of an eye, a being was in front of Tom. Standing as close as the invoking circle would allow them to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a demon. A true demon, in the flesh, standing before Tom. Despite its relatively normal, pleasant face, its unholiness was unmistakable. The unnatural angles of the shoulders and knees, the blackhole of magic which pulled everything inwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way Tom could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> it poking at his soul.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop that,” Tom said automatically, in the same tone he used to tell off Abraxas, when he wouldn’t stop pestering Tom about this or that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon stopped poking. “You called me here, and now you won’t even let me in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Its voice was… normal. It had none of the croaky wisdom of Stolas, nor the alarming grandiose of Death. It didn’t fill the room or haunt the shadows. It just… was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I’m supposed to let you into the circle,” Tom said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon grinned sharply. Even its teeth were normal; white, a little bit crooked, no sharp fangs to be seen. “Not into the circle, Tom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a step forward. Tom felt the magical barrier stretch, flex inwards—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And shatter.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Let me into your soul.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom felt the magic drain out of him at the exact moment his knees hit the floor. The demon’s alarmed cry hardly registered in Tom’s ears as the sheer panic of being </span>
  <em>
    <span>powerless</span>
  </em>
  <span> overtook him. He felt his mouth moving, but couldn’t hear anything he was saying, had no idea what he was saying, all he knew was that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated hated hated—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t dying! That’s what I’m here for, you— you </span>
  <em>
    <span>rakefire!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom felt the demon poking at his soul again. No, not poking, it was reaching in, it was— it was trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>burrow inside?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” he slurred. He felt groggy, as if he’d been infested with wrackspurts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to be immortal, right? Then you have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>let me in.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Me just </span>
  <em>
    <span>hanging about</span>
  </em>
  <span> won’t stop your soul from expiring—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through the fog, Tom grasped the muddled meaning of the demon’s words. “You’ll make me immortal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>said that—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Tom said immediately, and then winced. “Wait, no. What do you want in return?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now’s not the time for </span>
  <em>
    <span>negotiations,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> the demon snapped. It reached out and shook Tom by the shoulders. Its palms were warm and human. “I swear on Death that my price will not cause you harm. Now, </span>
  <em>
    <span>let me in.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom wondered vaguely what a demon would consider ‘not harmful.’ Probably not what a human would consider not harmful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vague doubts proved an ineffective shield against the demon’s insistent pushing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an odd swoop of the stomach and a single flash of stabbing pain, Tom felt his magic return to him all at once. At the same time, the demon’s grey eyes flooded bright green, swirling the same shade as Tom’s innate magic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom would’ve liked to fall to the ground and sleep for the next three days, but unfortunately, the demon didn’t disappear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, you’re immortal now,” the demon announced, clapping its hands together, and shaking them in the air with marked unenthusiasm. “Congratulations.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom blinked. “Just like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon grinned. “Well, don’t go cutting your head off willy-nilly. But yes, if either your soul or your body is irreparably harmed and your life force goes flying away, you’re linked to me strongly enough that I can just…” the demon made a pulling motion with its arms. “Bring you right back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bring me back,” Tom repeated, his head still whirling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon either took no notice of Tom’s dumbfounded state, or thought nothing of it. “Where should I take you? This doesn’t feel like your home, it doesn’t smell like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Smell like me…?” Tom shook his head. He reached up and rubbed at his eyes several times, just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things when he stared into the demon’s abyssal green eyes. “I can’t show up where I live with a stranger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can trick people into thinking they know me,” the demon said confidently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom stared at the demon, baffled. “You’d have to pay rent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon scowled. “Capitalism started this early? Damn, I’d hoped to avoid it.” The demon looked put out for a moment before its expression brightened. “I can find a job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or you can just… return to whatever demon realm you came from?” Tom said. It was surreal, speaking to a demon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon </span>
  <em>
    <span>pouted.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I came to help you because you’re the only person within eight centuries of the invention of the internet who was set to summon a greater demon, and you’re already trying to send me back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The invention of— what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon waved its hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Tom said slowly. “If it doesn’t matter, then you can leave, because it’s not here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a lot of patience,” the demon said, smiling cheerfully once again. Suddenly behind Tom, it reached out and wrapped its bony arms around Tom’s torso in a backwards hug, resting its chin on Tom’s shoulder. “Having me around won’t cause you harm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, no. “It’ll cause suspicion,” Tom invented. “I mean, you don’t even have a name. I can’t bring you back to school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a name,” the demon said. “Harbinger, the Master of Death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that’s a title,” Tom said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon squeezed Tom just enough for it to be uncomfortable. “Just Harbinger, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s also not a name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon huffed. Tom felt its breath on the nape of his neck, warm and present and very human. “Harry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Tom said. “Harry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon— Harry— nuzzled its face into Tom’s hair. “I promise, I can be very undemonic. You’ll hardly even notice I’m here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom made sure his voice remained steady. “So this is how it’s going to be. I’m immortal because you can fish my soul out of some cosmic void, and you’re going to follow me around until the internet is invented.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Longer than that,” Harry said happily. “We’re tied together, now, Tom. If I leave, it risks damaging your soul. Maybe even ripping it out altogether.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Tom said. “How wonderful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had 'polish and post' in my to-do list and I only posted. No polishing here folks, sorry. (not really). This doesn't fit the prompt perfectly but I got carried away with the rituals and stuff and suddenly the 'ficlet' was really long so I cut it short ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. plants</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Neville accidentally makes a plant monster.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The plant monster is based on the pizza monsters from the game Papa Louie. I don't draw very often but here's a thing, hope you enjoy. And yes, Neville is hiding in Hagrid's house while Dumbledore deals with him monstrous creation :P</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. pet sitting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tom needs money, so he took up a job for pet sitting. He didn't think he would fall in love with Hedwig the cat, or her owner Harry.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tysm <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creatrotera">creatro</a> for this adorable fanart!! They're all so cute :uwu:</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Tom! I’m so glad you had time to watch Hedwig this weekend.” Harry smiled cheerfully and stepped back to let Tom into his cozy apartment.</p>
<p>“It’s no problem,” Tom said, not mentioning the fact that he had, in fact, had lots of plans lined up for the weekend, and had cancelled them all as soon as Harry had asked for his help. “I’m always happy to help a… friend.”</p>
<p>Stepping into the apartment. He set down his small bag of clothes and immediately headed for the living room, where he could see Hedwig curled up on the couch, basking in the warm afternoon sun.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry it was so last minute. I would’ve found someone else to watch her, I really would have, but we’re <em> all </em> going on a work trip, and well, I don’t know many people outside of work,” Harry said, laughing awkwardly and rubbing the back of his neck.</p>
<p>“Give me a call any time Hedwig needs watching,” Tom said. He knelt down at the foot of the couch, making small clicking noises with his tongue as he reached out.</p>
<p>“Thank you for being so flexible,” Harry said gratefully, joining Tom in the living room. “Hedwig is such a finicky girl, it’s a hassle to try and find new people she takes well to.”</p>
<p>“She’s a darling,” Tom said, reaching out and running his fingers down Hedwig’s soft fur. “Who’s the best cat in the world? You are. You’re the best.” Hedwig opened her eyes slowly, looking at Tom balefully before uncurling and stretching out, exposing her stomach and flexing her claws a few times. Tom wisely withdrew his hand.</p>
<p>“You’re the best,” Harry echoed fondly. If his gaze happened to fall upon the cat sitter, rather than the cat, well, that wasn’t anyone’s business but his own.</p>
<p>Hedwig rolled back over and curled into a ball of white fur. Tom’s attention returned to the cat; he had cared for her enough to know when and where he was allowed to pet her.</p>
<p>Harry cleared his throat. “Anyways, I figured I would offer higher pay, since this was all so last minute.”</p>
<p>Tom’s gaze remained stubbornly fixed on Hedwig. “That’s not necessary. Truth be told, at this point, I’m so attached I would do it for free.”</p>
<p>Harry laughed, pretending he couldn't feel his face heating up. “Okay. Regular pay it is.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is a little shorter than a lot of other things I post, but I think short and sweet is nice sometimes. Mocha, I hope you enjoy this! It's nothing compared to your incredible bookstore bois, but hopefully it brightens your day 💕</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. rival law students</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tom and Hermione are rival law students. One day, while he's visiting Hermione to make sure she's taking care of herself while burrowed away in the library, Harry catches Tom tearing out the pages of Hermione's favourite study aid.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I spat this out in 35 minutes and didn't proof read it at all. I'm no aster so it's a little rough but hey, a little rough is good hehe</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What are you <em> doing?” </em></p><p>Harry stares, aghast, as Tom innocently sets down the papers he was just feeding into a shredder. Tom folds his hands behind his back and smiles pleasantly.</p><p>“Just getting rid of some old papers that are no longer needed,” he says. “I was going to burn them, and then I remembered that this is a library full of very flammable books, and fire is probably not a good idea. Makes you wonder about all these candelabras, doesn’t it?”</p><p>Harry marches towards Tom, intent of snatching up the papers to confirm what he already knows, but Tom is too fast. He quickly picks the papers back up and feeds them into the shredder.</p><p>Harry mourns Hermione’s best— and only— comprehensive guide to passing the bar exam, as he watches the high-powered shredder tear into the paper. He briefly considers trying to grab it out from the shredder’s jaws, but the shredder is honestly kind of terrifying and Harry doesn’t want his fingers turned into flesh spaghetti.</p><p>Tom is still smiling.</p><p>“It was just some practice tests, Harry,” he says, reaching out and laying his palm on Harry’s shoulder. Harry is too shocked to protest, to throw Tom’s hand off.</p><p>“It was not just some practice tests,” Harry finally says. Tom has the <em> audacity </em> to look confused, raising his eyebrows and sending the shredder a bewildered look.</p><p>“I don’t know what you mean,” Tom says. “I never study with the same notes twice; it defeats the purpose.”</p><p>He reaches over and lifts up a second stack of paper, and for a second, Harry is hoping against hope that it’s maybe the back half of Hermione’s draft, that something can be salvaged, that Harry didn’t arrive to the crime scene after the body was already fed to the tigers. No such luck; the stack he’s holding up doesn’t look at all the same, is not bound with yarn and bull clips.</p><p>“That was Hermione’s study guide,” Harry says, and saying it aloud somehow turns it from a hazy dream to a living nightmare. Harry finally throws Tom’s hand off his shoulder and imagines that he doesn’t miss the heavy warmth at all. “That was Hermione’s only copy of her study guide. Shit, Tom, it was in a binder, it was <em> colour coded. </em>”</p><p>Tom is still giving Harry a bewildered look, but beneath it, Harry can see a sort of mocking amusement burning in his dark eyes. They almost look red.</p><p>“Nobody prints out a study guide that thick, Harry,” Tom says. “That’s so unnecessary. Such a waste of paper. Hermione’s such an advocate for the environment, you know she wouldn’t do such a thing.”</p><p>“We both know that Hermione hand writes her notes,” Harry says through gritted teeth. He still can’t believe Tom has done this.</p><p>“Now that you mention it, I do remember you saying something like that,” Tom muses. “Still, that wasn’t her notes. It was old practice tests. We do have finals next week, Harry, surely you haven’t forgotten?”</p><p>The implication that Harry has an inferior memory to Tom rankles, but not enough to be much of a distraction. “I can’t believe you,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I thought— You said you were done with all the sabotage and cheating. You promised that you wouldn’t do those things anymore.”</p><p>“Harry,” Tom says, leaning back against the table. “I have never cheated or sabotaged anyone in my life. Frankly, I’m insulted you would even mention such a thing.”</p><p>Harry shakes his head. He’s considering knocking Tom backwards into the paper shredder, he really is, and that’s when Hermione rounds the corner holding a veritable mountain of books.</p><p>“Harry! So nice to see you,” Hermione says. She plops the books down on the table, and Tom heads over and sorts through the pile, touching Hermione’s books with his greasy (beautiful, elegant) hands, taking some of the books and moving them to the part of the table next to his own satchel, which Harry calls a man purse just to fuck with Tom.</p><p>“Thank you for the books, Hermione,” Tom says, and he settles into a chair and opens a notebook, pulls out one of his obnoxiously expensive-looking pens, and begins writing.</p><p>Hermione does the same, and Harry is left to gape at the both of them as they silently study next to one another.</p><p>“Hermione!” Harry ends up practically squealing. His voice does a funny jumping thing midway through her name, and Hermione looks up at him, and so does Tom, and so does everyone else in the library, because it sounds like Harry swallowed a whistle.</p><p>“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asks. She waves at her notes. “I’m a little busy. Tom and I are taking the bar exam next week.”</p><p>Harry can’t help but splutter, and he points accusingly at Tom, who is smiling angelically. “He— You— He hates you! You hate him! You’re rivals!”</p><p>“Harry, we don’t have time for foolish things like rivalries right now,” Hermione says. “Tom’s the only person whose notes are of any use. Of course we’re working together.”</p><p>Harry blinks. “He gave <em> you </em> his notes?”</p><p>Tom Riddle <em> never </em> shares his notes. He never really helps anyone with anything; sure, he <em> says </em> he’s helping, and he says plenty of shiny little phrases like ‘timed sessions’ and ‘nutshells’ but he doesn’t really provide any information. Sometimes, <em> sometimes, </em> Harry can wheedle it out of him to explain some concept, but even then, Tom makes Harry write his own notes, and Tom mentions how atrocious Harry’s handwriting is every single time.</p><p>“There are so many of them,” Hermione says, and motions at a stack of binders in front of her, which are all full and tabbed and colour coded. “It’s really quite helpful. My notes are less comprehensive, but they’re more useful for the exam, since I model all my notes based on the kinds of questions that appear on the exam.”</p><p>Harry is still standing there like a concussed goldfish, his mouth hanging open. “He just <em> shredded </em> your notes!”</p><p>Hermione sends Tom a disapproving look. Not a horrified, scandalized, betrayed look, not the kind Harry expects. It’s the kind of look a pet owner sends their cat, when they’re about to knock a glass full of water off the counter.</p><p>“Tom <em> always </em> shreds notes when he’s done with them,” Hermione says disdainfully. “It’s ridiculous. He barely changes anything when he writes them the second time. It’s <em> such </em> a waste of paper.”</p><p>“But— you— but—”</p><p>Tom finally looks up at Harry, and he’s visibly laughing, if silently. “Hermione scanned all her notes and shared them with me online,” he says. “It would be foolish to only have paper notes for the <em> bar exam. </em>Do you know how many people fail it each year?”</p><p>“Tom shared his notes with me as well,” Hermione said. “We agreed to share our notes and cross-reference the textbooks we use to make our notes. When we both pass the exam, we’ll become rival lawyers and hate each other once again, Harry. It’s alright.”</p><p>It’s absolutely not alright, but Harry’s realizing why Tom looked so amused when Harry was so angry, and why he’s laughing into his sleeve now, glancing up at Harry and grinning.</p><p>“You’re so precious, Harry,” is all Tom says, and he pulls up a chair and pats it.</p><p>Harry is still rather shell shocked, and so he sits down next to Tom, and Tom laces his fingers with Harry’s and switches the hand he’s writing with, because right, he’s ambidextrous.</p><p>“Could you help prepare these books for me, Harry?” Hermione asks, ignoring the fact that Tom is holding Harry’s hand in public, which Harry and Tom both agreed not to do. “I have a list of page numbers here; just find the page and use a sticky note to bookmark it.”</p><p>Harry exhales slowly and reaches out, takes the pile of books, and gets to work.</p><p>Tom really is such a bastard, Harry thinks. And then he thinks, holding his hand really is so nice.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>me? writing in present tense? it's more likely than you'd think</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. sugar daddy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a lil wholesome fic about one sugar daddying the other. could be genderswap, who knows. a lil fluff, nothing sexual, nothing romantic, really.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“What do you think of this one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry watches as Tom runs his index finger along the spine of a black journal. It’s small and plain, but Tom seems interested in it, and who’s Harry to judge what Tom wants?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nice,” Harry says, and Tom drops it into the shopping bag. It lands on top of another thirty or so books, and for the twentieth time that day, Harry makes a mental note to thank whatever witch or wizard invented weightlessness spells, because Harry’s no longer scrawny but he definitely can’t keep up with Tom’s voracious need to hoard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll emboss it later,” Tom says. “It’s dragonhide leather, meaning I can put lots of enchantments on it.” He sends Harry a dirty look. “Like enchantments to keep nosy roommates out of my things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never gone through your diary,” Harry protests, following Tom as he heads further down the aisles of Flourish and Blotts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, just all my notes,” Tom says haughtily. He stops in front of another book, this one gold and blue, with stars on the front. “What do you think of divination?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s rubbish. You know that,” Harry says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom hums. “Yes, it does seem rather foolish to believe the positions of the stars have any bearing on the future,” he agrees. And then he drops it in the shopping bag anyways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom slowly makes his way down every aisle in the store, dropping every book that tickles his fancy into the shopping bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, he elects to buy a book that he thinks is ‘complete horseshit,’ his Cockney accent coming out when he says it, and even though Harry thinks it’s a stupid waste of money, he’s never good at telling Tom no, and he also loves hearing Tom’s natural accent. He maybe, </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe,</span>
  </em>
  <span> begins pointing out stupid books, just to hear Tom call the authors a bunch of dunderhead who fell out of an ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they’re done, Harry is paying 700 galleons for fifty books. Tom no longer looks guilty whenever Harry spends money on him. He says thank you in his own ways, like helping Harry with his potions whenever Snape isn’t looking, or telling the other Slytherins to leave Harry alone or Tom will permanently vanish their kneecaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had helped to explain that Harry’s a trust fund baby, that his grandmother made a hair recipe that works wonders and still brings in loads of cash, and that Tom isn’t really costing </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harry</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom had then called Harry a ‘fucking asshole’ for sitting on so much money, a ‘fucking moron’ for not using the hair product to fix Harry’s own god awful hair. He’d also given Harry his transfigured button and lied to Dumbledore’s face when he said he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> work out how to transform a beetle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d been eleven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re both sixteen now, and Tom swears less— or at least, he only swears around Harry, which Harry is both proud of and a little insulted by— and Tom is much looser with Harry’s wallet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bella is going to be so mad that I found a copy of the Necronomicon,” Tom says gleefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She better be mad. That book was 600 galleons,” Harry grumbles. He doesn’t know what the Necronomicon is, but it sounds both Dark and old, so if the Black library doesn’t have it, it must be important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was thought to be destroyed when the last citizen of R’lyeh was murdered for being a necromancer,” Tom says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry drops his bag, which makes a very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>loud thump, and Tom lets out a cry of alarm and rushes to check if all the books are alright. “A </span>
  <em>
    <span>necromancer!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tom, please tell me you aren’t going to become a bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>necromancer.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom shoots Harry a disgruntled look, still examining all the books to make sure none of them have been damaged. “I don’t want to be a necromancer. I want to have something that Bella wants, because if Bella wants it, Druella </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>wants it, and if Druella wants it, then I’ll turn a profit on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A profit?” Harry asks. “You’re going to sell it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I play my cards right, I’ll be able to sell it to the Blacks for ten times what you paid for it,” Tom says happily. Then he flushes and mumbles something under his breath that Harry can’t quite hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Tom says, and passes Harry his bag. “Don’t drop it again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you definitely said something,” Harry says. Tom begins striding towards the apothecary, forcing Harry to run to keep up with him. Curse Tom and his long legs and billowing cloak. Vampire looking motherfucker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you did,” Harry says. “Tom, tell me. Tomtomtomtomtomtomtom—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom doesn’t silence Harry, but Harry recognizes the blue shimmer around Tom’s ears as a sign of the Self- Deafening charm, and he pouts and runs in front of Tom and mimes zipping up his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom sighs and removes the spell. “I’ll tell you soon,” he promises, and then they’re in the apothecary and Harry promptly forgets all about it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Christmas arrives and Tom hands Harry a small box with a shy smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry opens the box and is met with what Harry thinks is a wooden dildo. Then he realizes that there’s gold writing on it, and the writing says ‘Firebolt Supreme,’ and Tom has enchanted the box to be much deeper than possible, and he’s bought Harry a </span>
  <em>
    <span>broom.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>No, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>a</span>
  </em>
  <span> broom, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the</span>
  </em>
  <span> broom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The broom Harry’s been wanting for a year but could never justify buying because he hates spending money on himself. The broom that Draco Malfoy has been saying is the only thing that can beat the Firebolt, the broom that will make Harry beat Malfoy again, the best, fasting broom in the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Harry realizes that the Firebolt Supreme is </span>
  <em>
    <span>expensive, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and there’s no way Tom can afford it. Unless— unless he spent the money he’d gotten by selling Walburga Black a creepy old book on </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harry.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Goddamnit, Tom Riddle really is the best person in the entire universe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry doesn’t have the words for all that, so he bursts into tears right then and there, and has to explain through his tears to a frantic Tom that no, these are happy tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom doesn’t understand, he's still a little bit frantic, but it’s okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry doesn't ever plan on leaving Tom's side. He'll teach him how to act like a normal person eventually.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm in a writing frenzy. pls enjoy while my motivation lasts</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Same dorms, part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A sudden virus has spread through Hogwarts- all the students are ill except for Harry and Tom so the teachers decide to move them to the same dorm, far away from the other students and teachers. Chaos ensues.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is a little cracky and has no plot whatsoever but. yknow. whatever</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I’m afraid I have some rather bad news.” Dumbledore spoke gravely, as he always did, though the effect was rather lost this time around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was hard to seem dignified, Harry supposed, when one’s head was stuck in a fireplace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Harry asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the same time, Tom elbowed Harry to the side so that he, too, could look at Dumbledore. “What bad news?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dumbledore didn’t look surprised to see Tom. “A rather unfortunate accident in the Potions classroom resulted in the spread of a— Minerva, what is it called?” Dumbledore looked away. “Oh yes, a virus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry frowned. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Longbottom was attempting to engineer an antidote to the bite of the Venomous Tentacula,” Dumbledore said. “He succeeded in liquifying the toxins. He also succeeded in aerosolizing the whole potion, which quickly spread throughout the castle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry glanced at Tom, who was looking back at him with an equally confused expression. “The castle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even through the fireplace, Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Indeed. Everyone inside the castle at the time is infected with the virus. It’s causing severe spontaneous rashes, and electric blue hair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blue hair?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed. The entire castle looks rather like a sea of strange algae,” Dumbledore said airily. “At any rate, since the two of you were not on the grounds at the time of the infection, you are the only ones not infected with what I’ve dubbed the Reverse Smurf.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry blinked. How was it Dumbledore struggled with the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>virus,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he knew what smurfs were?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry asked him so much. “How do you know what smurfs are, sir? I didn’t know you watched Muggle films.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dumbledore looked surprised. “Oh, I adore Muggle films, Mister Potter,” he said. “However, I am referring to the magical species smurf. The blue and red ones that dwell in the forests of North America.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looked at Tom again. Tom shrugged, raising his finger to his ear and making a swirling motion next to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cuckoo,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he mouthed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what does that mean for us, professor?” Harry asked, turning away from Tom. “Does that mean we can’t come back to the castle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and Tom were staying in a rented apartment above the Hog’s Head. It was rather dingy, and Dumbledore’s brother— who was also Dumbledore, Harry realized— was rather unfriendly. Neither Harry nor Tom had any desire to stay much longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you can come back,” Dumbledore said jovially. “The virus has been thoroughly wiped out, and the castle is cleared. However, the virus is still contained within the blue hair strands of the infected parties.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry turned to Tom. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is that possible?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom shrugged helplessly. “It doesn’t sound right, but I don’t know enough about magical viruses to dispute it,” he whispered. He raised his voice and looked into the fireplace. “What does that mean for us, professor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can return to the castle, but you cannot attend class,” Dumbledore said gravely. “You also cannot return to your dormitories. I’m afraid… both yourself and Mister Potter must be quarantined together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry blinked. “Is that all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The virus is expected to linger for over two weeks,” Dumbledore said. “I fear two weeks alone, together, may be too much for your fragile minds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom sneered. “My mind is not </span>
  <em>
    <span>fragile,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he said. “We’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We really will be alright,” Harry said earnestly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, Tom wasn’t awful company, for a Slytherin.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <strong>two days later</strong>
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Tom, what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> have you </span>
  <em>
    <span>done?!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yeah, this prompt fill is gonna be two chapters. whoops</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Same dorms, part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Okay, those are the rules. We agree that these rules are fair and equal and that we will stick to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom nodded, not looking up from the textbook he was reading (for the seventh time that day).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No singing Muggle musicals, no enchanting things to be sticky and throwing them on the wall, no summoning your creepy elf more than once every two hours. In exchange, I won’t practice any Dark spells, make any Dark potions, or read any Dark books.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still can’t believe Professor Dumbledore lets you keep those things,” Harry said. “One of them is bound with human flesh, Tom, that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> creepy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plenty of books in the Hogwarts library are bound with human flesh,” Tom said dismissively. “As long as the person wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span> when the flesh was removed, it’s not illegal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry just shook his head and turned away, pretending to gag into the rubbish bin. Tom rolled his eyes and stuck his nose back into his book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>————</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We agreed on </span>
  <em>
    <span>no singing.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t singing, I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>humming, </span>
  </em>
  <span>there’s a difference. Besides, you were reading another creepy book from Bellatrix’s library, I know those are dark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>non-Light, </span>
  </em>
  <span>there’s a difference,” Tom retorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m adding that to the rules,” Harry snapped. With a wave of his wand, the words ‘no non-Light magic’ were burnt into the wall where they’d been making their list.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Tom snapped back. “I’m adding no humming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine! Do it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>———</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were humming,” Harry said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m allowed to hum,” Tom said. “No humming is one of </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> rules, not mine. I haven’t practiced any magic worse than a </span>
  <em>
    <span>tripping jinx</span>
  </em>
  <span> in days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I’m not allowed to hum, you definitely shouldn’t be,” Harry protested. “That’s not fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This list is about equity, not equality,” Tom said. “The same doesn’t mean fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s stupid,” Harry declared. “I’m going to make it so that the rules apply to </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead, see if I care,” Tom said. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t have a compulsive need to break into song every five minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m adding no compulsive hand washing,” Harry said. “You don’t need to wash your hands every time you start a new book, Tom, no wonder your skin is always so dry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>virus,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Harry, washing your hands is important,” Tom retorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still adding it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>————</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have we been fighting, Tom?” Harry asked, rolling over to look at Tom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Harry,” Tom said tiredly. “We’ve been making rules so that we </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I think we’ve been fighting,” Harry said. He suddenly felt very sad. “I don’t want to fight with you, Tom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to fight with you either,” Tom said. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t want to prove Dumbledore right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry snorted. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> he could believe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should get rid of the rules,” Harry said, yawning and stretching out. “We don’t need them. If you do creepy magic I’ll just… look away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you sing I’ll just silence you,” Tom agreed. Harry whacked him on the back. “I’m just kidding, I’m kidding! I’ll just make a sound shield.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Harry said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry laid silently for a few minutes, staring up at the bed canopy, which Tom had enchanted to look like the night sky (an inaccurate one, because there was too much light pollution to see that many stars, apparently).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we aren’t fighting, can we cuddle, Tom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a dramatic groan, Tom rolled over, wrapping his arms around Harry and burying his face in Harry’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, we can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, good,” Harry said. He leaned forward and bumped his nose against Tom’s. “I like spending time with you, Tom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, Harry, I’m trying to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Tom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry snuggled into Tom’s embrace and fell silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like spending time with you too, Harry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, good. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was 100% inspired by that one episode of B99 where Jake and Boyle are in a stakeout together, except make it more gay.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. vigilante au</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tom Riddle/Voldemort as vigilante (such as batman, oliver queen, any other rich bastard who moonlights as a crime-fighter) and Harry as the romantic interest (can have any relation to vigilante-- established relationship, detective whose after him, journalist, anyone basically)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i didn't know how to end this and it was getting too long :( but here's a thing</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The apartment door swung open. Tom swanned inside, still wearing his ridiculously flashy cape, his face obscured by a horrifyingly ugly and possibly culturally appropriating skull mask, and headed for the refrigerator. He grabbed a cup from the counter and filled it with some of his expensive whiskey and began drinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom choked on his drink. Reaching out, he blindly flicked the kitchen light on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There Harry was, sitting in Tom’s office chair, his hands clasped in front of him like a villain from a James Bond movie. Hedwig, Harry’s absolute menace of an owl, was perched on the back of the chair, digging her sharp claws into the expensive leather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Tom didn’t even have time to mourn his perfectly good office chair. He was still wearing his cloak, and had </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> taken off the Death Eater mask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom schooled his expression into one of surprised confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry? What—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been going out an awful lot, Tom,” Harry interrupted. Hedwig ruffled her wings in agreement. “Care to explain what you’ve been doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, shit. Tom quickly ran through a mental list of possible excuses, each less plausible than the last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m cheating on you,” Tom blurted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry, as Tom had wanted, looked shocked. His mouth fell open, rather breaking the illusion of authority he’d built up for himself. Then he looked amused, raising his eyebrows and smiling wickedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been cheating on me, have you?” Harry asked. His gaze travelled from Tom’s face to the silver mask on the counter to the cape still around Tom’s shoulders. “So what’s the outfit for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roleplay,” Tom said automatically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry blinked. “Roleplay,” he repeated. He turned to look back at Hedwig, his head tilted to the side. “People are strange, aren’t they, Hedwig?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hedwig squawked and sent Tom a sharp look. She was very emotive, for a bird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really strange. And I’m one of the strangest,” Tom said. “The cape and the mask… get me off.” Tom cringed immediately at his words, and he could tell Harry wasn’t buying a second of it. Shit shit shit shit shit, Harry was supposed to be asleep. It was four in the fucking morning, why was he awake?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom took another gulp of whiskey. If this was how it ended, he wanted to be able to blame it on alcohol.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They get you off,” Harry repeated, expression blank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.” Tom nodded. “It really makes me… hot and bothered.” Another drink. “So, if you’re going to break up with me, that’s fine, I won’t kick you out. I’ll help pay for whenever you move to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stood up, marched into the kitchen, snatched the glass from Tom’s hand, and dumped it on his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom kept his eyes shut as cold whiskey trickled unpleasantly down his back. “Okay, I deserve that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You most certainly do,” Harry said. “But not because you’ve been cheating on me. I know for a fact that you haven’t. That’s for sneaking out every night in a stupid costume to find drug dealers and kingpins.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom just stood there, his eyes still closed. Shit shit shit shit shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looked at the empty cup in his hand. Then he turned on the tap, filled it with water, and proceeded to dump the water on Tom’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s for being a fucking weirdo about getting caught and pretending to be an adultering roleplayer,” Harry added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Tom said. “So you’re breaking up with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Harry said, flicking Tom on the forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom opened his eyes. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re an idiot on a stick,” Harry said. “But you’re not a cheating idiot, and you’re not an idiot that I want to break up with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So…” Tom wiped his face on his sleeve. “Why are you mad at me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’ve been sneaking out and lying to me,” Harry said plainly. “And lying about why we can’t have sex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom coughed into his sleeve. “Right. So…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I’m going to make you a schedule,” Harry declared. He pointed at a calendar he’d hung from the wall. “You get three nights a week to be a caped weirdo hero. Choose wisely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're setting me a schedule," Tom repeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Stick to the schedule, or I'll let Hedwig into your room. She'll shit on <em>everything,</em>" Harry said threateningly. "And <em>then</em> I'll break up with you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom couldn't help but shiver as he imagined Harry's demon owl loose in his room. "Okay."</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Token, part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harry comes to Hogwarts with some sort of token from his childhood that he's kept throughout the years of being abused. That token is his most prized possession.</p><p>Someone steals his token at Hogwarts and Harry's trying to sleuth around to find who it is.</p><p>AKA Harry Potter emulating Sherlock Holmes, Nancy Drew, and James Bond while being absolutely adorkable.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tom finds Harry crying in the Room of Requirement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been searching for his little Gryffindor friend for hours, scattering all of his lackeys to the far reaches of Hogwarts in an attempt to find where Harry’s been hiding. Tom hasn’t seen him since lunch the day prior, and though he won’t admit it, he’s beginning to be very slightly concerned for Harry’s safety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Room of Requirement looks like a giant bed, and Tom realizes that the floor </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a mattress, as he sinks into the unexpectedly giving floor and ends up tripping and falling into a pile of pillows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blankets, pillows, duvets, quilts, and stuffed animals are everywhere. They’re all different, not a single duplicate to be found, and the floor/mattress is mostly covered in them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s made a nest for himself in the middle, surrounded by huge pillows and lion stuffed animals. In the centre, he’s lying like a burrito, wrapped in some many blankets that he’s a solid foot off the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom doesn’t know if Harry’s heard the door open, so he purposefully steps on what seems to be a squeaking dolphin, which warbles loudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry lets out a squeak that’s actually remarkably similar to that of the stuffed dolphin. He looks up and wiggles his arms out of the burrito blanket. Wiping his eyes with the corner of one of his many blankets, he’s trying desperately to squirm out of the blanket before his eyes finally focus and he realizes it’s Tom who’s found him. He stops struggling out of the blankets, though he still looks cautious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you really enchant yourself into a massive blanket burrito?” Tom asks, keeping his voice low and soothing. He steps forward, this time being very careful to avoid sinking into the marshmallowy mattress floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It didn’t take much effort,” Harry mumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom hums understandingly. He keeps walking forward until he reaches Harry’s blanket burrito, and then he plops himself down onto a plushy green that’s so full of feathers it barely sinks down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t find you all day,” Tom says. Harry doesn’t need to know that Tom had actually started looking for him yesterday. “I was beginning to think something had happened to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Harry says, though he doesn’t sound it, his voice cracking and dry in that I’ve-been-crying-for-so-long-my-throat-hurts kind of way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Tom says placatingly, because Merlin, he’s not going to pry into things that aren’t his business, but it’s obvious that Harry’s lying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just…” Harry does a little squiggle inside his blanket burrito and the whole thing rolls over so that he’s staring forlornly at the ceiling. “I can’t find Madame Hedwig. She wasn’t in my trunk yesterday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom frowns in confusion. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what’s got Harry stress burritoing? “You looked for your owl in your trunk? Why not the owlery?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry shakes his head. “Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hedwig</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hedwig. Madame Hedwig is a rock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom blinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Very discreetly, he pinches the inside of his wrist, just to make sure he’s not dreaming. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ouch.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Not dreaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom makes sure his expression doesn’t convey his bafflement. “What do you mean, a rock?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Madame Hedwig is a rock,” Harry repeats. “An actual stone, shaped like an owl. I’ve had her since… since before the Dursleys, and now she’s missing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom’s still a little lost, and he says as much. “We can just find another rock. If it’s not the right shape, I’m sure I can transfigure it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s expression turns deadly insulted. “You can’t just replace Madame Hedwig with some rock you pick up off the ground!” Harry wiggles his way out of the burrito, landing on the mattress with a muffled thump. He struggles himself upright and walks unsteadily towards Tom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be careful,” Tom says, alarmed. “All your blood is leaving your head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Harry says insistently, still wobbling forwards. He finally reaches Tom and pokes him on the forehead. “You can’t replace Madame Hedwig.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Tom says, raising his hands in surrender. “What should we do, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s expression brightens at once. “You’ll help me find her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom holds back a fond sigh, choosing instead to nod seriously. “Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry smiles widely, which certainly does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>make Tom’s heart race a little bit. “Thank you, Tom,” Harry says. He’s so sincere in his gratitude that Tom can’t help but smile back, even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> think this whole thing is a little bit ridiculous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Tom says. He stands up. “So, where do we begin?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>follow up sleuthing in part 2</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Taken, part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the investigation of Who Stole Madame Hedwig?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Do you think it could be Fred and George?” Tom asks. Harry hums.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Possibly, but I think it’s unlikely. Could you explain your reasoning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re pranksters of the highest order. Stealing something precious and hiding it seems like something they would do,” Tom says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reasoning accepted,” Harry says. “But since only you and I know about Madame Hedwig, I think the odds are low.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom’s chest warms at the knowledge that he holds one of Harry’s secrets. He pushes the feeling aside in favour of scanning the Marauder's Map to track down the names of the dastardly Weasley Twins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They might have thought it wouldn’t be missed, then,” Tom points out. “The sneak factor might appeal to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is also a fair deduction,” Harry agrees. He glances over at the Map. “Have you found them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re in Filch’s office,” Tom says. “And Filch is coming up the corridor. I think they’ll be making a break for the common room soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Harry says, satisfied. “We’ll question them, then. I’ll take the lead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>———-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry begins the interrogation. “Do you know what the password to my trunk is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t even know your trunk had a password,” Fred says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we’ve never tried to snoop in your things, ever,” George agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is why we </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>know the password is Hedwig123.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or that you toss all your dirty laundry at the very bottom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry exchanged a glance with Tom. Tom shakes his head. Lies, obviously, but they aren’t exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to sound honest. It doesn’t take a Legilimens to figure it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever taken anything from my trunk?” Harry continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We took your knickers and filled them with itching powder once,” George says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, we did do that,” Fred says, and high fives George.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t work though. Dobby caught us and cleaned them,” George remembers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, right.” Fred’s smile fades a little. “Little bugger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry has the fortitude to not be affected. “Have you taken anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The twins shake their heads. “Nope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom nods. “They’re telling the truth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looks vaguely disappointed, but he nods in acceptance. “Alright. Next theory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>———</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it was Draco Malfoy,” Harry announces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco isn’t a Gryffindor,” Tom argues. “I thought we established that only a Gryffindor could’ve taken Madame Hedwig.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I snuck into the Slytherin common room once,” Harry says. “Malfoy could probably find a way in, the slimy ferret.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom doesn’t disagree that Draco is a slimy ferret, but he also knows that Draco is a spineless bootlicking coward. He doesn’t do anything that Tom or Abraxas doesn’t expressly tell him to, and Tom’s never had to sneak into the Gryffindor common room. He’s there so often that his fellow Slytherins used to call him a turncoat behind his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom had remedied that assumption quickly, of course, but it didn’t change the fact that he was almost positive Draco Malfoy didn’t steal Madame Hedwig.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Harry’s convinced, so Tom scans the Marauder's Map for Draco’s name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s in the Slytherin common room,” he says, pointing out the little dot. “He’s pacing in circles, which means he’s studying for something he’s not good at. Probably Transfiguration.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or he’s pacing to brainstorm his next diabolical plot,” Harry says, sounding triumphant. He snatches up the Map and grabs Tom’s hand. “To the Slytherin common room!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>—————-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you bring a Gryffindor into here?” Draco hisses, sending distrusting looks at Harry. “Particularly </span>
  <em>
    <span>Potter.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Not that there’s anything wrong with Potter,” Draco adds hastily, in response to Tom’s glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He has a few questions for you,” Tom says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry is unbothered by Draco’s pointed glares, and flips open a muggle notebook he’s written all of his questions in. They’ve been carefully cultivated to be efficient and yield easily interpreted responses, if only Harry had less of a tendency to go off the rails.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever been inside the Gryffindor common room, Draco?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco’s still flicking his gaze between Harry and Tom. “No,” he says slowly. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looks at Tom. Tom shakes his head; Draco’s lying. Tom makes a mental note to ask Draco </span>
  <em>
    <span>when</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>why, </span>
  </em>
  <span>exactly, Draco was in the Gryffindor common room. Still, he doubts Draco’s the one who took Madame Hedwig.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever been into </span>
  <em>
    <span>my room</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the Gryffindor common room?” Harry continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco shakes his head. “No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another lie. “Why were you in Harry’s room?” Tom asks. His voice is unnecessarily hard, sharpened by a vicious surge of jealousy that comes completely out of left field. Tom clears his throat. “Nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>untowards,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I should hope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was in there for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Longbottom’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> things,” Draco confesses immediately, seeing the danger in Tom’s gaze. “I stole his robes and replaced them with women’s sleeping gowns.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom relaxes. He’s telling the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s awful,” Harry says. The poor dear sounds so confused and lost as to why Draco would do such a thing. It makes Tom want to wrap him back up in that burrito blanket and squirrel him away forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was just a prank,” Draco says dismissively. “So, what is this about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry shakes his head, pouting just a little bit. “It doesn’t matter. Tom, let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>————</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re never going to find Madame Hedwig,” Harry bemoans, flopping across the bed. Tom lets out a surprised </span>
  <em>
    <span>oomph!</span>
  </em>
  <span> as Harry manages to land directly on Tom’s stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve only been looking for two hours,” Tom says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is </span>
  <em>
    <span>so long!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Harry moans. He props himself up on his elbows and stares at Tom. He’s so close that Tom can feel Harry’s breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, the beating of his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom is hit with a sudden, inexplicable urge to reach out and press his hand against Harry’s chest, to feel Harry’s pulse against his fingertips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lays his palms flat on the bed. “I think you’ll survive,” Tom says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t,” Harry says, and flops back down, burying his head in his pillows. They’re chest to chest now, and Tom prays desperately that Harry can’t feel the pounding of his heart. “I’ve never done </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> for two hours except play quidditch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”You breathe,” Tom points up, staring at the ceiling and breathing deeply. Instead of slowing his heart rate, he manages to get a lungful of Harry’s pleasant floral smell, which only serves to make Tom more flustered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I breathe in for one second, and out for one seconds,” Harry argues. “Alternating, so it’s not consistent for two hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Tom says, because he’s in no state of mind to win an argument with Harry. What he’d really like to do is close his eyes and fall asleep, just like this, with Harry on top of him, breathing and speaking and just existing. He thinks he could be happy, like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t do that or Harry will tease him forever for falling asleep in the Gryffindor dormitories, something Tom swore he’d never do, so he keeps his eyes open and tries to kickstart his brain into finding more theories as to who may have stolen Madame Hedwig.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>—————-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Tom,” Harry says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a week later, and Madame Hedwig has still not been found. Harry’s sleuthing has all but come to a stop; despite Tom’s attempts to keep him on track, it turns out that Harry’s attention span is quite finite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom’s glad that Harry’s managed to recover from his loss. He’s out of the dumps and back to his usual peppy self, which Tom can’t quite understand but accepts nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” Tom asks. “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been an excellent Watson to my Sherlock,” Harry begins. “But your services are no longer needed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The investigation has already been off, Tom thinks to himself, and he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>the Sherlock to Harry’s Watson, but it’s nice to know that Harry’s officially gotten over his attachment to Madame Hedwig.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nice to know you’ve officially gotten over your attachment to Madame Hedwig,” Tom says. “It’s a little concerning, your attachment to a rock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry blinks. “Gotten over her?” Harry repeats, and then he laughs. “I haven’t gotten over her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom pauses. “What do you mean? You just said you don’t need my help anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need your help because I found Madame Hedwig,” Harry says, and now he looks a little sheepish. “She fell out of the pouch I kept her in, but she was just at the bottom of her trunk. I found her three days ago, but I didn’t have the heart to tell you that our investigation was all for nothing. You worked so hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I</span>
  </em>
  <span> worked hard?” Tom asks, incredulous. “This whole thing was </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes, at first,” Harry says cheerfully. “But then you took over, and you were so enthusiastic. It was nice seeing you put everything into the investigation. I didn’t want to burst your bubble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom’s pretty sure his mouth is hanging open stupidly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can only sit there as Harry pats Tom on the head and walks off, whistling under his breath.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this was 100% inspired by that episode of b99 where holt is trying to figure out who threw out his pie. b99 is an inspiration for many of my crack fics</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. a gardener meets a talkative snake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harry Potter is a gardener for Lord Riddle's estate. One day, he meets an unusually talkative snake hiding beneath the flowers. Unbeknownst to Harry, the snake is Tom Riddle under a curse.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is kinda chaotic and nonlinear and makes no sense but it was fun to write lol. hope you like it aster &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Make sure to weed under the rose bushes today, Mr. Potter,” Thomas said. “Mama is going to enter them in a competition. If the roots get strangled out by other plants, it’ll be a disaster.”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Harry agreed. “The roses are doing very well this year, I’d hate to see them ruined.”</p><p>“Good man,” Thomas said, nodding in approval. “If she wins, I’ll give you a raise.”</p><p>“Thank you, sir, that’s very generous of you.”</p><p>Thomas smiled. “It is, isn’t it?” he asked. “Well, off I go. Mama!”</p><p>Thomas wandered off, calling from Mama and ducking around the trees, as if Mama were hiding in the bushes.</p><p><em> Poor man, </em> Harry thought, shaking his head. Mrs. Riddle had gone quite senile months ago, after a freak accident caused a vase to fall on her head. This, along with the sudden disappearance of her grandchild, had caused her to retreat into a bubble of insanity.</p><p>Still, she loved the roses, and Harry was determined to do her proud.</p><p>Harry grabbed his gardening gear and headed off into the massive garden. The grounds of the Riddle Manor were huge, larger than most of the rest of the village combined, and Harry was the only hired gardener. He’d have to work all day.</p><p>At least he’d already raked.</p><p>By 6 o’clock, Harry managed to finish clipping all the long branches from the hedges, weeding the daffodil beds, and clearing out the algae from the pond. He’d cut his lunch break short to get everything done; now, in the beautiful golden light, he could trim the roses bushes.</p><p>Harry knelt down in the dirt and began trimming off the stray branches, each clip of his scissors made a satisfying slicing noise. Harry quickly fell into the meditative sort of trance that allowed him to have such a monotonous job, and not go utterly insane.</p><p>Harry was reaching underneath the rose bush to feel for weeds when his hand touched something smooth and giving.</p><p>Harry frowned. There were decorative rocks beneath the bushes, but they didn’t squish when prodded, nor were they as large as what Harry’d touched.</p><p>Harry reached under again. Poked the thing again.</p><p>He still didn’t know what it was.</p><p>Spurred on by curiosity, Harry finally went on all fours and lowered his head to peer below the rose bushes.</p><p>And came face to face with an enormous snake.</p><p>“Oh, shit!”</p><p>Harry scrambled back. The snake uncoiled terrifyingly quickly, its body unwinding and coming out from below the rosebush, its upper half raising up off the ground as it hissed.</p><p>
  <em> “Stop fucking poking me!” </em>
</p><p>Harry stopped trying to scramble away. “You can talk?!”</p><p>The snake, too, froze in its place. <em> “You’re a parselmouth?” </em></p><p>“I don’t know what that means,” Harry said. “What are you? This has to be a prank. This is a toy.”</p><p>Harry reached out to grab the snake. It <em> had </em> to be a toy, sent by the village children to play a joke on the people living in the Riddle Manor.</p><p>The snake hissed and lunged forward, biting into Harry’s forearm with long teeth.</p><p>“Ow! Fuck, get off!” Harry shook his arm hard. After a few seconds, the snake fell off, coiling back into a tense pile, though it kept its mouth wide open, displaying its fearsome fangs.</p><p>Harry examined the wound of his arm. Definitely real.</p><p>“That thing better not be poisonous,” Harry said, poking at the wound. He regretted it immediately, when the bite flared with pain. “Fuck.”</p><p><em> “It’s venomous, not poisonous,” </em> the snake hissed. It sounded human, almost, if not for the sibilance underlying each word. <em> “I’m not venomous, I’m a </em> grass snake <em> . Shouldn’t a gardener know snake species?” </em></p><p>“I’ve never met a snake that could talk,” Harry snapped back. He was bizarrely insulted by this talking snake insulting his gardening skills. “At least you aren’t <em> venomous, </em> then.”</p><p><em> “All snakes can talk. Not all humans can listen.” </em> The snake unwound and began slithering through the grass in a circle around Harry. Harry turned to follow its head, weary of its fangs, which were still dripping with Harry’s blood. <em> “I suppose you aren’t human."</em></p><p>“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry said, still tracking the snake’s red eyes. “I’m definitely not a snake.”</p><p>
  <em> “I, too, am not a snake. You know me, Harry Potter, and I know you, however superficially.” </em>
</p><p>“A talking snake knows my name,” Harry said faintly. He closed his eyes. “I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming…”</p><p><em> “You’re not dreaming,” </em> the snake hissed, managing to sound irritated despite the lack of… well, human sounds coming from its mouth. <em> “Must I bite you again?” </em></p><p>“You must not,” Harry said. He still didn’t open his eyes. “I’m sleeping. I am going to lie down on the ground right here and have a dream nap, and when I wake up the talking snake will be gone and I will finish trimming these roses.”</p><p>Still not opening his eyes, Harry laid down directly on the grass and curled up, covering his head with his arms. “Goodnight, talking snake. See you never again.”</p><p>Though he couldn’t see, Harry could still feel the snake as it slithered around him, and eventually even on top of him, constricting threateningly around Harry’s torso every so often. It didn’t bite him again, thankfully; Harry hadn’t known he could dream realistically enough to simulate pain.</p><p>Finally, Harry felt the snake slither off him. He let out a deep sigh of relief.</p><p><em> “When this spell wears off, I will return for you, Harry Potter,” </em> the snake hissed. <em> “And I will have some questions for you.” </em></p><p>“Yes, okay,” Harry said. “Goodbye. Have a nice life.”</p><p>—————</p><p>Harry woke without pain in his arm. He finished trimming the roses, bid the Riddles goodnight, and headed to the little cabin at the edge of his estate which he called home.</p><p>When he changed into his pyjamas, his hand brushed against a raised scar on his forearm.</p><p>—————-</p><p>Three weeks later, there was a knock on Harry’s door.</p><p>Harry stumbled out of bed and shoved on his glasses. “Madame Riddle, I haven’t seen your grandson, and I don’t know where the cat is,” he called. He opened the door. “If you need help getting back to the manor—”</p><p>The man standing in the doorway offered a sharp smile. “I know where I am,” Tom Riddle Jr. said. “The last time we met, I believe I said I’d have some <em> questions.” </em>The last word came out as a hiss.</p><p>Harry slammed the door in Riddle’s face.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i could write more of this but its supposed to a ficlet challenge ;-; gotta reign myself in, gotta reign myself in...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Movie Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>For the wonderful, amazing, talented, hilarious, kind, wonderful, amazing, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereThereBeDraugr">Draugr</a>. Hope you enjoy 💕</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is very nearly the crackiest thing I've ever written. Head empty no thoughts the entire writing process.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What’s the difference between this Pennywise creature and a boggart?”</p><p>Harry shot the Dark Lord an exasperated look. “Boggarts don’t <em> think, </em>really, do they? They definitely don’t eat their victims, or I’d be dead.”</p><p>“The Pennywise <em> eats </em> its victims?”</p><p>“Well, yeah, that’s what all the teeth are for,” Harry said. “For, you know, chewing people up.”</p><p>“I suppose,” the Dark Lord said, looking at the movie poster doubtfully. “So why does it waste so much time chasing around children without killing them? I watched the prophetic video, I’ve seen it. It just chases them around.”</p><p>“The prophetic video…?” Harry gaped. “You mean the trailer? The video online that convinces people to watch the movie?”</p><p>“That’s not what Lucius said it was called,” Voldemort said. “Besides, it trailed nothing.”</p><p>“That’s not…” Harry sighed and shook his head. “Nevermind.”</p><p>Voldemort’s smug smile made Harry wish he cared enough to get into an argument with him. He would have challenged him, he really would have, were it not for the tentative truce hovering between them to <em> not </em> duel and blow up a movie theatre full of children.</p><p>Plus, Harry really, <em> really </em> wanted to see this movie. It was the night of the <em> premiere, </em>and he had perfect tickets. He wasn’t going to let Lord Voldemort be the one to ruin this experience for him.</p><p>Voldemort looked away and back at the movie poster. “I suppose I’ll watch this one. Lucius said it will inspire true fear.”</p><p>“It’s a horror movie,” Harry said plainly. “That’s what they’re meant to do.”</p><p>“Muggles these days have no concept of horror,” Voldemort said dismissively. “Back in my youth, my city was bombed on a regular basis. Now they lose their personal electronic devices and call it horrific.”</p><p>“You’re such an old man,” Harry said, amazed. “You call phones personal electronic devices?”</p><p>“Phones attach to the wall and have a dial,” Voldemort said. “Muggles need to stop inventing new things and giving them the names of old things. It’s irritating.”</p><p>“I bet you wish they stopped inventing things at all,” Harry said. “Without the new technology they’ve invented, conquering them would be much easier, wouldn’t it? I bet you curse J. Robert Oppenheimer’s name in your sleep.”</p><p>“Neutron bombs are negligeable,” Voldemort said.</p><p>“Negligeable,” Harry repeated. He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Your problem.”</p><p>Harry turned away from the poster and headed over to the waitline. It was already quite long, but Harry had procurred tickets online, so he wasn’t concerned about getting a good seat.</p><p>Harry got his ticket scanned, walked into the theatre, and headed up the stairs.</p><p>Voldemort followed behind him.</p><p>Harry ignored him, turning off from the staircase and into the aisle, settling comfortably into his seat.</p><p>Voldemort sat down next to him.</p><p>
  <em> Nope. Not gonna happen. </em>
</p><p>“These seats are reserved,” Harry said. “General admittance goes somewhere else.”</p><p>“I know they’re reserved,” Voldemort said irritably, glaring at Harry. “This is my seat.” He turned away. “Close your mouth, you’re going to catch flies.”</p><p>“I have the worst luck,” Harry groaned, sliding down into his chair and covering his face with his hands. “Of course I’m sitting right next to Lord Voldemort.”</p><p>“The name on my ticket is Lerd Veldermart,” Voldemort said.</p><p>“Lerd Veldermart,” Harry repeated. “Why?”</p><p>Voldemort practically preened. “It is my alias, to match my disguise.”</p><p>“You’re wearing a bright green wig and glasses,” Harry snorted. “That’s not a disguise, that just… makes it kind of pathetic that you thought nobody would recognize you.”</p><p>“I didn’t expect to run into enemy wizards tonight,” Voldemort snapped. He reached up and pushed the glasses back, only for them to slide back down his nonexistent nose.</p><p>Harry snickered.</p><p>“What are you laughing at?” Voldemort snapped.</p><p>“Your glasses,” Harry said, still snickering. “Maybe you should’ve worn contact lenses.”</p><p>“My vision is perfect,” Voldemort sniffed. “The glasses obscure my features.”</p><p>“Yeah, they do a great job of hiding the fact that you’re part snake.”</p><p>Voldemort hit Harry with a Stinging Hex.</p><p>“Okay, fine, whatever, enjoy your disguise,” Harry grumbled, rubbing his arm. “Why are you even watching a movie?”</p><p>“I am collecting data,” Voldemort said smugly. “Fear is an important weapon of war.”</p><p>“So you decided to watch a horror movie…?” Harry shook his head. “Whatever. Just don’t talk through the whole thing and ruin this for me. I paid good money to watch this on premiere night.”</p><p>Voldemort stung Harry again. “I have impeccable manners.”</p><p>————</p><p>“I didn’t like that movie.”</p><p>Harry ignored the Dark Lord. He picked up his things and shrugged his jacket back on.</p><p>“It was unrealistic. Why did Pennywise waste so much time toying with his victims? If he requires their flesh for sustenance, he shouldn’t have let them escape so easily.”</p><p>“Right, you wouldn’t know a thing about toying with victims,” Harry said sarcastically.</p><p>“There is a difference between a display of power and a waste of energy,” Voldemort said, his chin raised.</p><p>“Yeah, you really needed to make me duel you in front of your Death Eaters,” Harry agreed. “Because that really struck them with inspiration, watching their supreme lord fail to kill a sixteen year old child. It wouldn’t’ve been faster to, I dunno, stab me with a knife while I was still tied to a gravestone.”</p><p>“Stabbing is a Muggle murder method,” Voldemort said disdainfully. “It is traditional to duel an enemy. I respect tradition.”</p><p>“Sounds like an excuse to be a wizard Nazi, but alright,” Harry muttered.</p><p>Voldemort scowled. “I am no Nazi.” He almost sounded offended.</p><p>Harry blinked. “Oh, right,” he said. “You were alive during the whole World War II thing.”</p><p>“The whole World War II thing was my childhood,” Voldemort sniffed. “If you want to live through <em> true </em> horror, you could relive my memories.”</p><p>“Yeah, no thanks,” Harry said. “I don’t need to humanise my enemies. I’m perfectly happy to picture you as a heartless lunatic.”</p><p>“Humanise implies that I <em> wish </em> to be seen as human,” Voldemort said. “I am more than human. I am the greatest—”</p><p>“I’ve heard this speech before,” Harry interrupted. “You know, Pennywise probably could’ve eaten those kids if he hadn’t monologued for so long first. You could take notes.”</p><p>“Oratory skills are necessary for every conqueror,” Voldemort said. “Julius Caesar was said to be an excellent orator, as well as an excellent ruler.”</p><p>“Julius Caesar was stabbed to death by all of his friends,” Harry pointed out.</p><p>Voldemort grimaced. “Perhaps he was not the best example.”</p><p>Harry snorted. “Perhaps not.”</p><p>Having reached the auditorium door, Harry pushed it open and stepped out of the theatre. The lights seemed almost blinding, after two hours in the pitch darkness.</p><p>“Well, as much fun as this hasn’t been, I believe it’s time to part ways,” Harry said.</p><p>“It seems so,” Voldemort said. “The next time I see you, we will be enemies once more.”</p><p>“I was unaware that we’re not enemies right now.”</p><p>“You are not dead.”</p><p>Harry snorted. “The bar is set very low,” he remarked. “Well, see you never.”</p><p>“See you on the battlefield,” Voldemort corrected, his voice full of malice.</p><p>—————</p><p>The next time Harry sees Voldemort, it’s not on the battlefield.</p><p>It’s not on a field, point blank period.</p><p>It’s at the movie theatre.</p><p>“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Harry says.</p><p>The tall dark and handsome, carbon copy of Tom Riddle Senior, prick of the highest order, Lord Voldemort, turns to look at Harry. His spine stiffens and his eyes narrow, his hand reaching for his wand up his robe sleeve before he realizes he’s not wearing a robe.</p><p>“Potter,” Voldemort says.</p><p>“Voldemort,” Harry replies. “Or is it Riddle, now?”</p><p>“Say that name again, and I will disintegrate your sinews,” Voldemorts says.</p><p>Harry would be able to take the threat a little bit more seriously, were it not for the fact that Voldemort currently looks and sounds like a walking advertisement for Banana Republic.</p><p>“So what do I call this iteration of yourself?” Harry asks.</p><p>“Tim Randell.”</p><p>Harry frowns. “How is Tim better than Tom?”</p><p>“It doesn’t have to be <em> better, </em> it just has to be <em> different </em>.”</p><p>Harry turns his head and rolls his eyes where Voldemort can’t see it. “Why are you even here? Going to collect more data?”</p><p>“I am here to watch Sonic the Hedgehog,” Voldemort says. He doesn’t sound like he’s joking, which makes it both much better and astronomically worse.</p><p>“Why are you watching Sonic the Hedgehog?” Harry demands.</p><p>“I have… found that I enjoy watching Muggle films,” Voldemort says, sounding like he’d rather <em> crucio </em> himself than admit it. “I have watched a film a day for the past month. I am… running out of <em> quality </em> material, yet I find myself returning.”</p><p>Harry doesn’t really know what to say. “Enjoy your movie.”</p><p>“I’m quite certain I will not.”</p><p>So why are you here? Harry wants to ask. He doesn’t ask, because he doesn’t really want to talk to Voldemort more. He doesn’t want to make things weird.</p><p>Or, weirder than they already are, he supposes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This wasn't posted on the 13th but, 13 chapters, 13000 words, published the 13th. I've gotten stick with the motif.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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